My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 149

12:09 Wed, Oct 15

Chapter 149 Fragile Alliances

Chapter 149 Fragile Alliances

6778

+5 Free Coins

Cecilia managed to win Marcus’s eye, Fiona mused while twirling the silken cord at her wrist. Marcus keeps his presence so faint that even two other princes overlook him. A talent like that is no small thing. Perhaps the Divine Doctor knows something of their bond, but Vincent watches me like a hawk since our reunion. Slipping beyond the estate walls will not be simple.

Back at the gates of the Niven Estate, Fiona nearly collided with Vincent. He strode out beside a tall stranger whose broad shoulders and crisp uniform spoke of the frontier.

She recognized him at once. Only one man fit both the unfamiliar face and Vincent’s circle, Laurence Yeats. He was handsome in a clean–cut way, all sharp angles and bright eyes. The moment those eyes landed on her, color rushed up his neck.

“Vincent, Mr. Yeats–stepping out for the afternoon?” she asked, offering a smile as light as spring sunlight.

Laurence peeked again, was met by Vincent’s sideways glare, and jerked his gaze to the gravel path, flush deepening.

“Just a tavern. Something to while away the time,” Vincent said, voice deliberately casual.

Fiona nodded, curtsied, and continued toward Lily Garden where Meryl preferred to take her tea among the lotus blooms.

Once Fiona was out of earshot, Vincent led Laurence through the street bustle. The tavern was a pretext. Their true purpose was sober: organizing the grain caravans bound for the frontier. Broadmoor’s garrisons swallowed most supplies, leaving the outer passes hungry.

Yet Laurence’s mind kept drifting back to a certain smile framed by willow–green sleeves.

Vincent’s brow knit. “What is it? Planning to become my brother–in–law?”

Laurence coughed, mortified. “N–No… certainly not.”

Vincent let the answer hang, then shrugged. “Not impossible, mind you. Show me what you’re made of.” He weighed the man’s steady character, respectable lineage, and the fact that Laurence’s father currently basked in Emperor Aldric’s favor. Life with such a husband would at least keep Fiona comfortable.

“Truly?” Laurence’s voice cracked with a hope he tried–and failed–to hide.

Vincent chuckled. “Thank your excellent father.”

1/3

12:09 Wed, Oct 15

Chapter 149 Fragile Alliances

General Yeats commanded the very forces Vincent served beneath on the frontier.

“It never hurts,” he added with a half–smile, “to have a powerful parent to lean on.”

771

+5 Free Coins

In the next booth, Callum paused mid–sip. Word was that Fiona had returned to Jexburgh, though he had yet to glimpse her vibrant figure amid the capital’s swirl.

He set his cup down and murmured, “Xavier should be back in the city by now, shouldn’t he?”

Soren pressed his lips together, the faintest twitch of muscle betraying a storm he refused to let surface.

“Xavier is still leagues ahead of Laurence.” Callum’s verdict came lightly, as though he were appraising horses rather than men.

Soren had no interest in hearing this ranking of suitors. He let the remark drift past and offered no reply.

“That young Isabella Muirhaven, though–she strikes me as excellent material. Aunt Meryl certainly has an eye for quality.” Callum’s tone carried the confidence of a man convinced of his own good taste.

“She seems fine.” Soren snapped back to the present and managed a brief smile.

Callum hesitated. The smile was too thin, too cold, as if forged out of ice rather than warmth, and something about it made the older brother uneasy.

“Does His Majesty object to the way the supplies are being shipped?” Callum asked, brows knitting.

“Not at all,” Soren answered, voice level and clipped.

Watching Soren settle into his usual composure, Callum decided he must have imagined the earlier chill.

“I have never seen you like this. If you were already married I would think your heart had been bruised,” Callum said, half teasing, half probing.

Though his brother remained single, Callum still thought Soren looked like a man whose wife had just strayed–tight–jawed, wounded pride hidden beneath courtesy.

Soren’s mouth twitched again. “There is nothing of the sort,” he said, dismissing the notion.

Yet a man could not help but rankle when a woman with whom he had once shared a bed reduced him, in passing, to the category of “not quite up to the mark.”

2/3

12:09 Wed, Oct 15

Chapter 149 Fragile Alliances

+5 Free Coins

Had he truly been lacking it would have stung less. The humiliation came from knowing his failure lay only in first–time inexperience, not in any real deficiency.

Callum understood that, too. He could not imagine anyone bold–or foolish–enough to leave his younger brother nursing such a hurt.

“Then why do you keep drifting off?” Callum pressed.

Soren rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I am fine. Merely vexed by the logistics of moving those supplies.”

Later, back at the Zonfrillo Estate, Penelope posed almost the same question the moment Soren crossed the threshold.

When he assured her nothing was wrong, Penelope’s worry eased. She chided herself for overthinking; Soren was never one to squander energy on romance. If he were truly a rake, the manor would already be overflowing with concubines.

“Isabella Muirhaven arrives in Jexburgh mid–month. I shall invite her here. Stay home that day so the two of you can meet properly,” Penelope said.

She liked the girl well enough–literate, courteous, raised under Gertrude Crosswell’s watchful eye, and clearly the old lady’s favorite–but Soren was the one who had to wed her, so his opinion mattered most.

“All right,” Soren said.

“You show no passion at all for your own marriage prospects,” Penelope scolded, eyes narrowing. “Anyone who did not know better might suspect you prefer men. One brother chases skirts too eagerly, another cannot be bothered at all–both extremes test my patience.”

Soren met the charge with the same steady indifference, neither warm nor cold, as though the matter concerned someone else entirely.

Even if we simply lie side by side, it makes no difference.

The echo of Fiona’s off–handed tease drifted through Soren’s skull like perfumed smoke. Irritation pricked beneath his calm façade. Better, he told himself, that she had refused him outright.

After all, with a woman so free–spoken set as mistress of his household, who could guarantee the children would grow into anything but reckless, ill–mannered sparks?